


Thunderbolt.

by springburn



Series: Dr Who mini fics and prompts [17]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Feels, I Love You, Unspoken Love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is taking Clara on a trip.......but it's a surprise and he won't let on where they're going.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderbolt.

**Author's Note:**

> “You’ve got to remember, the Doctor is not a human being. His emotional responses to things are expressions of a far deeper and more complex relationship with the Universe.” Peter Capaldi, answering the question of whether the Doctor was a little jealous of Danny Pink in series 8.
> 
> This was what I had in my mind when I wrote this piece. 
> 
> It was from a really great prompt by @lettersfromavonlea on tumblr. Which gave me a great starting point to work from......
> 
> ......"there's another one I had in the back of my head, clara buying a viola and having to try all the different ones and the doctors looking at her with adoration and it's then that they both realise what the other feels"
> 
> This story slots in somewhere between Last Christmas and The Magicians Apprentice.  
> Where I feel the dynamic in the relationship really changed, from out and out fancying, to much deeper and more 'alien'.
> 
> It also pleases me greatly that Clara would have given the Doctor 'feelings cards' as well as the ones he had for After the Flood. A card for every situation!!
> 
>  
> 
> The book, 'Andrea Amati and the Birth of the Violin' was very helpful in writing this.

THUNDERBOLT. 

 

It all started innocently enough, with Clara expressing her thoughts about musical instruments generally.  
The Doctor had been idly strumming the guitar......or 'noodling' as he cheerily referred to it.  
This particular one was quite a museum piece, a 1959 Fender Music Maker. He'd picked it up in 1963........funnily enough, in his first incarnation, left in an old tea chest in Totters Lane, rather than in a specialist store or at a junk fayre. It was quite a pride and joy of his, and he was often to be heard twanging away, not always as tunefully as he might. 

She'd mentioned in passing......as you do.......that her aunt played both the viola and the violin and that she'd had lessons as a child, but never stayed the course........didn't think she possessed the required musical ability.....

She didn't think he'd really been listening......

Now here they were.........

oOo

"Where are we going Doctor? Why won't you say?" She huffed pointlessly.  
"It's a surprise, but you'll need to dress for the occasion, ask The Tardis.....she'll come up with something suitable." He replied nonchalantly, buttoning his crisp white shirt at the neck, he was giving nothing away. 

She could see him now, with his back to her, admiring himself in a full length mirror. Turning first one way then the other, pulling at the hem of his coat, flipping back the sides to reveal the red lining, with a theatrical flourish. Then trying to see his own back view, craning his head around and swivelling at the hips most provocatively.  
"Yes, Doctor.....it's very nice!" She remarked with an amused grin.  
"What is?" He looked back at his own reflection so that he could see her where she hovered behind him, without turning.  
"Your arse! It's very........how shall I put it? Shapely? Peachy?........no.....pert! That's the word! You have a pert little tush!"  
He coloured visibly.  
"I wasn't aware you'd been ogling my.........'tush'!" He retorted, making speech marks in the air with his fingers. With a slight smirk, swivelling again and lifting up the back of his coat to reveal his rear end in all its narrow trousered glory.  
"I know a thing of beauty when I see it!" She responded with a giggle.  
He continued to observe himself from each angle, then dropped his coat with a puff.  
"You're taking the Mickey!" He said, with a pout. "And I'll not rise to it!"  
He stalked away, but she could see the blush still in his cheeks......the ones on his face that is! 

Emerging moments later from the competent hands of the Tardis wardrobe, she was dressed in a gown of crimson velvet with a plunging neck line and fur trimmed cuffs.  
A jewelled necklace at her exposed décolletage.  
Her hair carefully pinned into a netted snood, with tiny sparkling beads sewn into it.  
She found him in the console room, tinkering. 

"Well?" She announced, giving a twirl. "What do you think Doctor?"  
He turned slowly, as if in no particular hurry, but his face betrayed him instantly.  
His eyes widening and blinking a few times, the expressive eyebrows arching with obvious and ill disguised admiration.  
Yet he rallied quickly.  
"Very nice!" He murmured, noncommittally.  
"Agh!" she scoffed, "is that the best you can do? Look at me!" She swung the gown around again holding the sides out with each hand, to maximise the effect.  
He watched, transfixed, yet focussing mainly on her now ample bosom, pushed up as it was by the corset she was wearing.  
"Hmm!" He nodded. "The word 'pert' comes to _my_ mind this time!" He tried to fix his gaze on a spot just between her eyes.  
This time it was her turn to blush as she looked down at her own cleavage.  
"Yes! Well! Apparently it was the height of fashion!" She defended.  
"I have no doubt of it!" He replied with a wry smile. 

oOo

The Tardis materialised with its usual consumptive wheeze, followed by a clang as if someone dropped a spanner down the exhaust pipe. Not that the Tardis had an exhaust pipe!  
Out they stepped. Into watery Spring sunlight. Standing side by side before preparing to sally forth.  
"Why aren't you dressed in appropriate costume?" She asked, looking up at him.  
"Because I fit in anywhere. I'm omnifarious." He brushed his hand down the front of his long coat, smoothing it carefully. His waistcoat buttoned through, close fitting trousers, and black boots, smart and slim.

"See?"  
No one looked twice at him, he blended in perfectly. How did he do that? 

"Where are we anyway?" She enquired, glancing around her.  
They were in a narrow street. The buildings high and leaning. Sandwiched close together almost as if part of a child's Jenga set, haphazardly built, about to topple.  
The windows were latticed. Red clay tiles on the roofs. Ivy and bougainvillea climbing the brickwork. A cobbled road with a gutter running down one side.  
People hurried by, their dress post Renaissance, distinctly Jacobean, except she was sure this wasn't England. Clara became excited, animated, her dark eyes shining with delight, tugging at The Doctor's sleeve with urgency, waiting for his reply. 

"Cremona." He replied matter of factly, as they began to walk. "Sixteenth century."

The streets were bustling, there was a market in a small piazza.  
Wooden stalls with striped awnings. The vendors calling their wares, vying with each other for custom.  
Clara pulled The Doctor's sleeve, enraptured, as they paused to examine the items for sale.  
Rolls of fabric, in a variety of colours. Embroidered and appliquéd. Rich damask and velvets.  
Silken caps and purses of leather. Pelts of mink and rabbit.  
Foodstuffs, a heady mix of aromas. There were cheeses, pungent and soft. Figs, ripe and pulpy in neat rows. Dates sent from the Holy Land, sticky and exotic. All kinds of olives. Green and black, shiny as jewels.  
Baskets of saffron, rare and expensive, the bright orange stamens placed into a twist of paper, for the customer to take home.  
Stone vessels of wine, like amphora, as if straight out of a Pompeii. The shape of which remained unchanged for centuries.  
Live chickens in woven baskets clucked pathetically, their beaks and feathers poking through the bars of their cages. 

 

As they sauntered on Clara linked her arm through his at the elbow. He paused slightly, glaring without comprehension for a few seconds, then seemed to reach a decision that this was acceptable behaviour and they continued on their way. His other hand came to rest over the top of her forearm comfortably and she smiled up at him, quite taking his breath away. 

What were those expressions? It was so confusing. There was just no telling what Clara Oswald could do with a sideways glance or bright smile.  
So disarming. 

Some moments later they reached a corner, it lead into a wider thoroughfare, and a smarter district.  
Here there were shops, and more houses. Larger and grander in design.  
The Doctor quickened his pace in his eagerness, until Clara was almost trotting to keep up with his long strides.  
He stopped suddenly beside a large window display.  
Above the door, a sign, _"The Brothers Amati."_

"We're here!" He announced. 

Clara looked at the painted notice, then at the Doctor, incredulous. 

"You have got to be kidding me?" She cried. 

A tiny bell tinkled as they entered, a man appeared, wearing a leather apron, a lathe in his hand.  
"May I help you? Antonio Amati at your service!"

Clara was speechless, gazing around her in muted awe.

The bow shaped bodies of many unfinished instruments were suspended from hooks on the walls and in the ceiling, others, intended for display, were propped on small wooden stands.  
Pots of sticky resin stood on the counter top, along with brushes made of badger hair.  
The place smelled of varnish, wood shavings, and wax polish.  
Templates were stacked on a shelf, each one carefully labelled, and some distinctive pear-shaped pieces were already cut and waiting, made of spruce or willow....ready to be fashioned into finished violins.  
Another man entered at that moment, younger, but similar in height and look to the first.  
He was carrying a box of pegs and tailpieces, ready to be used on half completed orders, Clara recognised the black of ebony, and maybe rose or boxwood, to add the finishing flourishes to these coveted works of art.  
For works of art they were, each one tailor made, each a masterpiece of craftsmanship.  
"My brother, Girolamo." Antonio said, with a gesture towards him and a smile. "You wish to make a purchase?" 

The Doctor shook hands with both, introduced Clara......who was still, inexplicably struck dumb.  
Her eyes scanning the room and workshop about them, wide, tearful, barely blinking. Finally coming to rest on the Timelord's face. 

What was that look? 

He'd not seen it before.......had he?  
Maybe he had.....

It confused the hell out of him.  
He coughed. Leaning into her arm.  
"You're doing it again!" 

"What? What am I doing?" She looked bashful suddenly, as if trying to alter her expression to one of indifference, but failing miserably.

"The thing!"

"What thing?" 

"The thing you do.....with the eyes!" He shifted with discomfiture. 

"I'm not doing anything!" She coloured visibly, from cheeks, to ears, to neck. 

"Yes! Yes you are. What is that? What does it mean? The eyes.....they inflate.....I never know what I should do......whether to say I'm sorry......although I don't know what I've done......or whether to give you a hug.....or.......or........what? It's most disconcerting!" He breathed a sigh of frustration as if he had no clue how to proceed. 

"Well......you........it's you! Bringing me here......to do this.......for me........it's, well, it's lovely. And......well........thank you Doctor! It's just wonderful!" She reached up and placed a kiss on his cheek, hurriedly, before she had time to change her mind and before he had time to move away. This kiss was more lingering than the last time, and would have caught his lips, had he not ducked his head slightly at the last moment. 

He seemed shocked. Bringing the back of his hand up to touch the spot where her lips had brushed.  
Staring back at her, as if she had just grown another head, or had turned bright blue. 

"I......Clara.......I......." 

The moment was shattered by a loud clearing of the throat. The Timelord snapped back into the room with a jolt. Tearing his eyes away from hers and looking in the direction of the sound.  
The two brothers standing side by side, both with amused and wry smiles on their faces. 

He rallied, with supreme effort.

"The lady wishes to purchase a viola." He stammered, desperately attempting to regain some semblance of his equilibrium. 

"Then please come this way!" The younger Amati said, with a gesture towards the workshop.  
"We have many finished instruments for her to try." 

The workshop was an Aladdin's cave.  
Fine string instruments everywhere from a child's viol to full sized cello. All gleaming wood, the grain brought out by polishing and varnishing.  
There were other carpenters there, each working industriously at a different task. Scrolls were being carefully carved, bridges fashioned from pieces of ivory, for the most discerning customer.  
Beautiful workmanship on the body, the f holes hand cut with a tiny metal fret blade. 

The Doctor looked on fondly as she tried different neck lengths, or chin rest positions, her eyes flashing with joy, glancing back at him from time to time. Tentatively trying some fingering and testing a note or two with a horse hair bow. Antonio turning the pegs for her, to fine tune, using a metal tuning fork to achieve the perfect pitch. 

Something was happening to him, and he wasn't quite sure what it was.  
Nor was he sure he liked it.  
All he knew was that he felt very hot around the collar. With each burning glance from Clara he felt a strange lurch in his stomach, as if there was a squirrel in there, or a manic hamster, struggling to get out.  
Most odd. 

The younger Amati turned to him and smiled. 

_"Colpo di fulmine!"_ He said quietly, with a nudge and a wink. 

The Timelord gave him an unrestrained glare. 

"The thunderbolt?" He glowered angrily. 

"Tis a strange phenomenon _signore!_ Sometimes we are minding our own business, and before we know it, we are lost!" 

"I'm not sure I catch your drift." The Doctor retorted, casting another furtive peep at Clara as she appeared to come to a decision on the instrument she favoured most.  
The craftsman gave a knowing smile, followed by a pragmatic shrug. 

"Oh, I think you do!" He chuckled. 

The Doctor paid the asking price with a handful of florins from a pouch, which he produced from an inner pocket, and ushered Clara firmly and hurriedly from the shop, she happily clutching her purchase.

She skipped along beside him as they walked back, swinging her new viola in its black leather case, but the Timelord was silent and morose.

"What's wrong Doctor, why are you suddenly so gruff?" She enquired, a hint of disappointment in her tone. 

"There's nothing wrong with me." He huffed grumpily. "I'm fine!" 

"Well......clearly you're not fine!" She exclaimed, stopping and tugging at his arm. "You were perfectly cheery when we went into the shop, then I saw Amati say something to you......and now you're upset.....so spill......what did he say that got your goat?" 

"Let's just get back to the Tardis. I'm thirsty." He hedged, and strode away, leaving her to scamper along in his wake. 

oOo

Half an hour later, after Clara had deposited her new pride and joy in her room, she was wandering the corridors hunting for her erstwhile alien companion.  
He was nowhere to be found.  
"Where IS he?" She spoke aloud to the walls around her.  
Lights appeared along the floor, much like the strip lighting in an aircraft.  
"Thank you my dear girl!" She called, and followed the trail. A friendly thrum answered her. 

She found him in the anti-grav room, but it was not functioning or he would be floating. Instead he was seated on the floor, on a rug, apparently meditating. Legs crossed, boots off, eyes closed. 

She cursed the long frock she was still wearing, at the rustle of which his eyes opened and she saw him take in a sharp breath.  
Clara crouched down in front of him, her face kindly.  
"Why are you hiding in here?" She said softly, "What's wrong Doctor? Please tell me, have I done something wrong?" 

A pained expression was his only reply, and she went onto her knees, looking directly into his face.  
"Are you ill? Or unhappy, angry? Or what? Can't you tell me?" She reached out and laid a hand gently on his knee. 

"It's......well, I feel........I want to.........Gods! I don't know Clara! I don't have the manual." He ended lamely. 

She neither removed her hand, nor relinquished her gaze, holding his eyes with her own, searchingly. 

"Feelings cards?" She suggested helpfully.

He paused before reaching, somewhat reluctantly, into the inside pocket of his coat, brandishing a small stack of notecards, each carrying a sentence or two written on them in black biro.  
Thumbing through them, he scanned rapidly, grunting then moving onto the next, a frown, and then the next, then tutting crossly, until he reached the beginning again.  
He then glanced up at her, a look of lost desperation written there. 

"Nothing?" She ventured.

"Well, there's _'please excuse me, I have a terrible headache'_ but that doesn't quite fit the bill, apart from that, the next best thing was, _'I'm very tired and I think I'll go to bed now.'"_  
Clara would have laughed, but he looked so desolate she didn't have the heart. 

She could see he was struggling. 

She placed her hand gently against his left cheek, causing him to hitch his breath and sigh, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch slightly. 

"Doctor. Tell me what you need." She whispered. 

His eyes opened again slowly, they were large and dewy, the rims red. His look was one of utter adoration.  
Clara could see it there, but she couldn't voice the words for him, he had to say them for himself.  
No prompting from her, this was all about what was going on in his head, and in his hearts.

From the moment he'd released her from the Dream Crabs she'd been almost sure.  
Well, actually, she'd been 100% certain.  
If she was honest with herself, she'd always felt this way, Danny was almost a distraction, it was why she felt so guilty, she knew The Doctor would be impossible to give up.  
After the Orient Express there was _absolutely_ no doubt. She'd even told him she loved him.......except she'd said it while on the phone to Danny.  
Stupid. 

Finding out on the Polar Base that they'd both lied, to spare each other, was a huge shock. 

Just how far would they go to avoid the inevitable? 

So often she had come very close to telling him how she felt. 

Rescued from sixty-two years of Dream Crab hell. She'd kissed him, taken his hand, run away with him, and she was certain there would be a shift in their relationship. 

Second Chances. 

How often did those come around? 

Somehow, though, the time never seemed right. 

When they visited the planet of The Long Necks......where she'd lost more than just her sunglasses, she'd almost told him then......but she'd been a bit squiffy, and it all came out as a jumbled, giggling, silly girl with a crush.  
Basically she'd funked it. 

Now he was sitting in front of her, gazing at her like a dazed haddock........and she knew. 

He felt the same. 

But he couldn't find the words or the right time either. 

What a pair they were! 

Since he'd made no attempt at a reply, just bowed his head in sorrow, she struggled to her feet and held a hand out to him, to help him up.  


"Come on! Tea! When in doubt and in time of crisis, we British resort to tea!" She said, as cheerfully as she could muster.  
"Tea?" He echoed mournfully.  
"Yes.....a brew will cure anything from melancholy to constipation! So, come on, chin up, shoulders back! Tea!"  
He took the proffered hand and got to his feet.  
"I'm not constipated!" He puffed hopelessly.  
Leaving his boots behind, he padded after her in his stripy socks. 

Moments later they were in Clara's kitchen.  
Sipping builder's quality PGTips from mugs with 'C' and 'D' on them. A little extra Christmas present from Santa himself. 

"I need to do some thinking. Lose myself for a bit." The Timelord mused reflectively. "Is that okay with you Clara?"  
He peered at her over the rim of his cup.  
"You do whatever you need to do Doctor. I'll be here, waiting. Always. Alright?" She reached out and closed a hand over his.  
He looked down at her little fingers, wrapped around his own, and gave a slight smile.  
"Yes. Alright." He replied. 

"Doctor? You have to promise me one thing though......"

"What is it?" His thumb traced the back of her hand thoughtfully. 

"You have to promise me you'll come back. That you won't abandon me. Even if it's to say you don't want to travel with me anymore.....whatever it is......you have to promise you won't just leave me hanging......I couldn't bear it." 

He bought their joined hands to his lips and placed a lingering kiss there. 

"I promise Clara." He whispered. 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> The story now moves on to the beginning of season nine and the Magicians Apprentice.  
> The Doctor clearly had not yet gone back to Clara.  
> But the first thing he did when he saw her again was pull her into a completely spontaneous tight hug. 
> 
> Decision made!


End file.
